I've written a little bit about how pregnancy announcements affect me now versus then. They are complicated, always, and then less complicated. I really love my family and friends regardless, but sometimes it’s a little easier to be close to those who are done having children. There are the occasional pregnancy, birth and baby stories, but most of them are living in the age that their children are currently in. Out of self-preservation, from what I gather ;-)
I’m still not writing this in a way that means something. I guess the synopsis goes like this:
When I was trying to get pregnant and heard announcements, I was happy for them, but jealous because it felt like it was taking a really long time for us (it wasn’t, but there were some major mindf**ks in that six or seven month period.
When I was pregnant, I was so happy and so scared and I was so excited for everyone else – I was so ready to be part of this community and they were my community.
Since the loss there has been more darkness in my response (which, only reflects on me, not on the pregnancy proficient) – a lot of jealousy of the experience, joy, and innocence. Sometimes some of those feelings resurface. Why them and not me? comes up a lot. I did and still can become ugly about it, but I try so hard to not be THAT girl.
It can get dicey from there, depending on the situation. I am usually judgy, despite my best intentions. Which doesn’t really apply to anyone who reads this. However, the crackwhore, from my perspective, seems rather undeserving of a perfectly healthy newborn. And there are a lot of derivatives of the crackwhore. But, the problem with these scenarios are that they are generalized. There is always a chance that THIS time the crackwhore will get it right, that she will put down the crack, call up a supportive family member, get clean, realize that she has some self-worth, and work her tail off at becoming the mother that she never had and a role model for her son or daughter. And, see, in that case, that child that I originally felt in my heart was underserved by that woman, that child saved her life and was able to observe a mother who loved him/her enough to change in incredibly difficult ways in order to be a mother. Which crashes my entire selfish, smug, self-righteous theory on the concept of “deserving.”
After a miscarriage, five years of infertility, countless treatments, etc., I’d like to think that I’m way more chill about pregnancy announcements. I have been overjoyed by the babies that have been born to friends’ of ours, especially ones that I will have a chance to interact with as they grow up. The families that have multiplied before our eyes have actually been like balm to my heart. This is all combined with my fascination for women’s health because I do love the pregnancy, labor, birthy stories – they just sting a little at the same time. I have thoroughly enjoyed this telescopic view we have of parenting in it’s raw form (yes, I’ve seen friends spank their children, nurse, kiss, carry, hold, rebuke, etc.).
My issues come from somewhere I can’t fully control. I don’t want what you have, I desperately want what I think I’m missing. See? Complicated. My heart breaks for a baby that wasn’t born and won’t grow up. My heart breaks for the possibility that I won’t make C a dad and I won’t be a mom. My heart breaks because I think we’d be decent parents and using that presumptuous word again, I think we “deserve” a chance at the parenting thing.
- Posted from my mobile phone
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